<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Sick by PallanMinerva</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27265357">Sick</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PallanMinerva/pseuds/PallanMinerva'>PallanMinerva</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bad Poetry, freestyle poetry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:08:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>906</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27265357</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PallanMinerva/pseuds/PallanMinerva</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sick</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Rap lyrics are hard. They have a certain flow that I wish I could achieve in my text. I try to emulate and imitate but end up in a tirade to alliterate, and all of the ink in my pen drips down in a puddle on down</span>
</p><p>
  <span>blankets ripped to pieces. This is a violence, no doubt about it, and passing the blunt into oil tells you nothing about its origin. Find force in the remnants, find the scorch marks in paper, find the night sky under your bed, find morbidity in cardboard boxes filled with the memories that always shattered at your touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Find the wine bottle to sip sorrow from and sup at its sin, celibacy wrapped in succubi. And when you find the answer, don't tell me, tell the question, find its tells in the inflection it inflicts. Intention is only worth as much as I allow, and morality dies to goodbyes of fires, dire deliberating in the calligraphy of the ruins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chew at the hand that feeds upon empty knowledge, chain down the silence in a variety of parlances. Life's a bitch, a bastard son of laughter and lullaby, a little low-key lure, lurid in its tantalizing torrents of feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feel free to lose it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Drive a nail harder into the wood, send cracked skin flakes flying, chalkboard screams. Follow the pathway, down the wrathful rope whose nylon balm burns me, where sight sizzles on my eyelids, gyre of light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plastic monuments to plastic achievements, last sticks of cement and rebar, skeletons from asphalt, and the fantasies stuck in sewers. I crack yolks on the sand and watch it leak into horseshoe corpses, the children of corralled coral. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Screech me, scratch me, enact a policy of anti-amnesty on my peoples and persecute me until the acid burns at my skin, whispers of sin. Basement filled with holes, attic empty of water and bird nests, but knock on the door and be answered. Be the answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, I'm not your vessel, I'm not your community, I'm not your weapon, I won't drive you to finality. I am a ghost who doesn't see enough from this side of the veil, veiled vision upon villains. I am the zeta to the cyrillics, where I am inscribed on eroded gravestones and on faded certificates and all that I'm left of is bereft of even dignity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Define me, definitely.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Foreign fuckery is faulted, faults cracking at obtuse angles to this triangle of rioting hyenas, raucous laughter cascading across the seas. A species of self-centered hypocrisy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>homo defectus</span>
  </em>
  <span>, an entire language of emotions simplified into rotten teeth—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doesn’t fucking matter, doesn’t fucking matter, it’s all a waterfall of words anyway. All of this is meaningless. We talk at each other loudly, spittle flying as we jabber on about nothings until the sun falls and we can fuck each other into fugues. Friends with benefits are not beneficial, who the fuck are you benefiting? What are you saving?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, I will throw down a thousand cusses until you turn away, you fuck. Swallow your narcissism for six seconds and let me speak. I’m so sick of this overstimulus, so sick of a thousand jaws cracking as they all shout to be heard, creating a cacophony that attempts to be a choir. Fuck you. I’ve been in choirs, and there is nothing even resembling a melody, let alone harmony, in this discourse you distend. Disavow this all you want but you are a participant because you are </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being alive is one thing and living is another. I hate repetition and I live and breathe novelty, tourism under my skin, come see the attractions. A heart that pounds and dies at every stare, a stomach turning over the medicine that is pumped into it, and underneath it all lies a lymphatic system hyperactive on its own high. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck you. FUCK you. Fuck YOU. It’s all the same, the same sounds the same sighs the same syllables all looping together in the same patterns how the fuck can you even stand it? How the fuck can you stand yourself? Aren’t you disappointed? Aren’t you unsatisfied? What the fuck allows you to be content in this mirage you hide yourself in? Oh, I see, you enjoy stagnancy. You enjoy sitting down in this pool of shit-water and telling yourself that this is all you know and this is all you will ever know you pathetic worthless pond scum. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scratch my name into these walls with chalk with nail with the shards of my soul, glass cutting into cement, let the screech settle down. Then you can arrest me, make me detest and maybe then I can finally stop fucking spitting bullshit, stop being a fucking asshole, start learning how to be a human being. Halfway to humanity we’re all walking in between girders, thinking guidance where there is no guardrail and one failure is a five hundred foot fall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like a pen scratching ink into a desk, dribbling down, a puddle of phrases and tomfoolery. No matter how many pages I try to fill it's never enough because there's always more but it's never coherent. Gordian knot of the mind, goring tusk of a kind, so we stitch these easels together to make one long painting for the blind. Making you sign all these contracts away just so you can feel okay</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it’s not okay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It never has been. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>